


Snow

by Alania_Black



Series: 366 fics for 2016 [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania_Black/pseuds/Alania_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a field of white all Bilbo could see was red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely don't know how long this will last, but in an effort to be productive, I am going to try to write something everyday for 2016! Here is day 1.
> 
>  **Series note:**  
>  I am working on writing a fic every day of 2016, so I don't have time to re-edit each piece on the day (I have other things going on as well), however I have a strategy in place for editing the fics so there will be a polished version available soon. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you would not comment with typos and suchlikes until I've published the edited version.

Bilbo had not always hated snow. As a tween, in the safety of the Shire, playing on the rolling hills with cousins and friends, snow had been a joy and delight. A new landscape for old games, battling valiantly against a barrage of snowballs and Tooks. 

Then the fell winter came, and snow became a true enemy. It lay too thick for too long, bringing illness and death to the Shire. And once it weakened the Hobbits with the first volley, it froze the grounds solid and unleashed the second: the wolves. 

Unprepared, weak and cold; far too many Hobbis died at the wolves' teeth. More died of sickness and hunger, too afraid to leave safety to seek help. 

Bungo Baggins had been a brave sort of Hobbit, and kind. Knowing the fear of his neighbours and being better stocked through the strength of his harvest and relative smallness of his family, he had chosen to go out, during the better times, and deliver food to those closest. Bilbo had watched him go from the window each day, keeping an anxious watch. His father was a small, dark patch against a backdrop of stark, unrelenting white. 

The wolf was even darker, and far larger, when he leap for Bungo from his hiding place and tore him to the ground.

Bilbo had yelled, and ran for the door, desperate to save his father. His mother ran with him, fierce in her love for her husband. The wolf had seen them coming, and ran, a coward in the face of their numbers. Belladonna had quickly gathered her husband and dragged him back into their smial.

Where he had been sprawled on the snow, all Bilbo could see was a large puddle of red blood, consuming the snow in its wake. Dark against the white backdrop. 

Every day, after, while his father slowly succumbed to wounds and infections, Bilbo would peer out the window and see the red, red pool.

*****

Blood was puddled in two places around Thorin's body, still against the ground. All around him was mud and dirt, churned up under the feet of too many warriors. But Bilbo could still see the blood, as clear as if it was pooling onto fresh snow, too tick and too dark. 

Was this how his mother had felt, all those years ago? Terrified and hopeless, but unable to stop gripping her husband, hoping against anything that if she wished hard enough, he might survive? 

Bilbo wasn't sure he had her strength, as he watched them cart Thorin away. Didn't know how to be strong when the one he loved could die at any time. 

He could only cling to the memory that, when the fell winter had passed, the flowers bloomed again in the fields and life slowly re-emerged. In the battle-scarred wasteland ahead of him, life was already looking for a way. 

He gripped onto his acorn, still secure in his pocket, followed Thorin, and wished.

And slowly, life found a way.


End file.
